Leah Mordecai eBook

The terrible tragedy that had filled so many hearts
with consternation, the untimely and mysterious death
of Mark Abrams, had long since been numbered with
the events of the past. In the Hebrew burial
ground, in a suburb of the Queen City, his mortal remains
were at rest. Months ago, the grass had sprung,
and the flowers of affection blossomed above his pulseless
bosom. Upon the seventh day of every week since
that dreadful January, the unhappy father and mother
had turned their faces devoutly toward the city of
their fathers, and offered their fervent prayers.
Yet no abatement of sorrow had time brought to the
mother’s wounded, bleeding heart. Wearily,
and often despairingly, she longed for that untried,
unknown life beyond, where she dimly hoped for a reunion
with her lost son.

Sarah Mordecai, young, thoughtless, volatile, in the
death of her lover was disappointed, but not heartbroken.
Recovering from the shock of her sorrow with the buoyancy
and elasticity of youth, her repinings scarcely reached
beyond the period that brought blossoms to the resting-place
of the dead. Let no one censure this young heart
that, by reason of its nature, could not sit enshrouded
in gloom and sorrow, nor shudder at the thought that
when the summer came, with warmth and brightness,
she was as light of heart as the birds that carolled
in the garden around her spacious home.

Not such the mourning of her disappointed mother.
From day to day, since the failure of her cherished
hope, regret and disappointment had rankled in her
bosom with consuming force. She despised the fate
that foiled her plans and purposes, and left the object
of her hatred still uncrushed. Leah, with her
beauty and unaffected grace, was again to be triumphed
over. Again she might not be so successful.
Rebecca was cold, cruel, and false-Leah fearful, dispirited,
and miserable. Alas! poor Leah Mordecai.
EmileLeGrande’sdiary.

“August 15.-So sure as my name is Emile, I believe
I shall succeed in my endeavor to marry the Jewess.
She is beautiful! She receives my attentions
more kindly now than she ever did before, and she
confesses that she loves me truly. That’s
‘half the battle.’ She seems very
unhappy at times, yet only once did she ever hint to
me that her life was aught but a summer’s day
for brightness. I once thought she loved Mark
Abrams, and I hated him for it; but that’s of
no use now. ‘Dead men tell no tales.’

“August 20.-Whew! how mother did rave to-day
when I intimated that I might possibly marry Leah
Mordecai! She asked indignantly what I ’designed
to do with Belle Upton, a girl of eminent respectability
and an equal of the Le Grande family?’ I mildly
suggested that I could not love such a ’scrap
of a woman as Belle Upton was; and if she was in love
with me, it was without a cause.’ I have
paid her some attention, but only to please mother
and Helen. She’s too effeminate, if she
is so very aristocratic-not half so handsome as ‘ma
belle Juive.’ Oh! those dreamy eyes!
They haunt me day and night. I believe I am sick
with love!”